


We Could Start Over Again

by interabang



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eating Disorders, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interabang/pseuds/interabang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite heart attacks, divorces, and past misgivings, six friends are ready to begin again... Again. Takes place after The One That Could Have Been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Could Start Over Again

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Title is from "Coffee and TV" by Blur.
> 
> 2) Thank you, HungryHufflePuff, for your help and support!

**February**

 

After two heart attacks, Phoebe figures she’s ready to restart her life.

Unfortunately, she’s beginning to realize that _living_ is, well…

“… Kinda hard.”

Gunther blinks in confusion. “What?”

“Oh, that’s right. I’m talking to you,” Phoebe reminds herself, trying to ignore her gross, dirty curls getting in her face. She’s getting a haircut and straight-perm as soon as she can afford it. _For now_ , she thinks, _it’s time to get down to brass tacks. Wait, why do they have to be brass? They could be – no, focus!_

“Since I’ve been generously providing you with some mood music,” Phoebe says suddenly while gesturing at her guitar case, “I figured I’ve accrued enough surplus funds for you in the past few weeks which, after allowing you a very gracious 2% stipend, should net me…” She checks the figures in her head, and says proudly, “Four thousand dollars.”

The corner of Gunther’s mouth twitches. “Four thousand dollars for…”

“For playing here, of course!” Phoebe chuckles a little, glancing over her shoulder at Rachel, the new addition to her group of friends. Rachel’s not even paying attention to share a knowing look. Instead, she’s forlornly picking at the half-loaf of zucchini bread Phoebe had given her.

“Phoebe,” Gunther says, getting her attention again, “You’re not being paid to play here. In fact, you _owe_ me for your sessions.”

It’s Phoebe’s turn to blink. “Huh?”

“About thirty dollars a day.”

“Gunther, I almost  _died_ ,” Phoebe protests. “I’ve been here every day for eight years. Doesn’t that count for something?”

He's quiet for a moment, then says, “Actually, better make it forty bucks a day. I’ve lost business since you started singing ‘Tachycardia Time.’”

“But that’s my best song!”

Brushing crumbs off of her hands, Rachel suddenly turns around in her seat. “Um, hi, sorry,” she says with a little wave. “Gunther, right?”

“Y-yes,” he says, and Phoebe can just barely give enough of a crap to notice his change in behavior.

“I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying, and you know, I just – I don’t think Phoebe should have to pay to play here.”

“Why not?” Gunther counters, and Phoebe’s heart rate is speeding up and she absolutely _refuses_ to have another heart attack, especially in Central Perk after having her generous offer thrown back in her face. Not to mention having her music criticized.

So, Phoebe kind of checks out of the conversation.

When she gets her BPM under control and starts paying attention to her surroundings again, Gunther says to her, “Okay, fine. You don’t have to pay anything.” He scurries toward the counter, leaving a very surprised, but pleased, Phoebe.

She doesn’t know how Rachel did it, but she’d gotten Gunther to drop the fees.

Phoebe decides, then, that she likes Rachel.

“I like you,” she tells Rachel.

Rachel smiles a bit at that. “Oh, I – well, I like you too!”

“I’d hire you if I could,” Phoebe says, not even conscious of the fact that she’s opening her purse to get her cigarettes out until she realizes there _aren’t_ any cigarettes to get. Monica must have found Phoebe’s not-so-secret smoke stash and thrown it away again. Phoebe curses the name of Geller and plops down on the couch, next to Rachel.

“Well, I appreciate that,” Rachel says. “I, um, think.”

Phoebe ends up yanking out a Post-It from her purse. _Deep breaths, Buffay_ , she tells herself. Then she pauses, looking at the Post-It, and turns to face Rachel.

“Since I can’t hire you,” Phoebe says, brushing her annoyingly long hair out of her face, “I have a business proposition.”

“For me?”

“Yes. You’re homeless, I’m unemployed, and now I can only afford rent for my grandmother’s old apartment. Why don’t we live together?”

Rachel blinks a couple times, then smiles uncertainly. When she raises a hand to her chin to consider the offer, Phoebe notices two things: Rachel’s French manicure has chipped on four fingers, and Gunther is standing right behind her.

“Or,” Gunther says, despite the warning glint in Phoebe eyes, “you can live with me, Rachel.”

She lets out an incredulous half-laugh as Phoebe takes Rachel’s hand and presses the Post-It bearing her new home address. “My place has two bedrooms, and I won’t stare at you when you come out of the shower. Much.” Phoebe adds that last part under her breath before getting up. “I’ve gotta go, but you can stop by this address later. When you come in, I'll do your nails because... Well.”

Visibly flustered, but looking equally grateful, Rachel says, “Um, okay, sure!”

Phoebe hurriedly makes it out the coffee shop’s front door just before Gunther slides right in front of her blocking her way.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” he cries, looking more crushed than angry. “It’s like you took my heart, ripped it right out of my chest, and walked all over it while everyone watched.”

“Oh my God,” Phoebe murmurs. “How do you know the lyrics to my new song?”

She side-steps Gunther as he makes some sort of exasperated, irrelevant noise in the back of his throat.

On her way back to her ‘new’ apartment – after having to take two buses, which, _ew_ – Phoebe sees a sign pointing to some back-alley massage place claiming that the day’s prices are half-off.

After hesitating for a bit, Phoebe decides, screw it, she might as well get some pampering, especially at that price.

Twenty minutes later, she’s definitely getting her money’s worth.

“Wow,” she says to her masseuse through the hole under her head, “you _really_ don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Huh? Hey!” her masseuse cries as Phoebe lifts her head out of the hole and faces her. She's a tiny brunette wearing a gaudy, beaded necklace and a long denim skirt with paint splotches. She’s tacky as hell and her oiled hands are defiantly resting on her hips as she pouts, and Phoebe can't help but feel a sting of sympathy for her.

 _Sympathy, not pity. What is up with me today?_ Phoebe thinks, but instead says, “Look, I won’t claim I’m an expert at this - although I might as well be - but this is the worst massage I’ve ever had. And I’ve had a lot! Professional and otherwise.”

“But I’m certified!” the woman squeaks, lifting one of her hands to jab a finger at the wall, where there’s a certificate taped. It’s missing a corner.

“Huh. University of Phonix,” Phoebe reads, unsure if the last word is spelled correctly. “What’s it like?”

The woman, whose name is Mandy – if the certificate got that right anyway – shrugs. “I trained on dummies mostly, but my professor seemed to like what I did!”

“Oh, _no_ ,” Phoebe mutters, then, gathering her sheet from behind her, she pulls it to her front and gets up off the table. “Here, let me show you how to do this.”

Unsurprisingly, Mandy agrees. Just as soon as Phoebe starts getting to work on her shoulders, the door behind them opens.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Whoops,” Mandy says. “Busted.”

Her manager, Tiffany, quickly ushers Mandy out of the room, saying, “For the last time,  _you_  massage _them_ , not the other way around!”

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Phobe says as the door slams shut behind Mandy. “And you probably shouldn’t be listening in on your clients getting massages in the first place.”

“I just wanted to ask my employee a question about refilling the ointments,” Tiffany sniffs.

“Without knocking?”

Sighing, Tiffany says, “Oh, all right, you don’t have to pay anything if you just leave now and promise to forget this ever happened.”

“Or, here’s an idea,” Phoebe swiftly counters, “you can hire me!”

“What?” Tiffany, unlike Mandy, looks sharp. Professional. Her pantsuit is nowhere near the quality ones Phoebe used to wear, but she can tell a fellow businesswoman when she sees one.

“Look, I could give you a whole presentation with charts and slides and all this other stuff that would take me too much time to put together, so I’ll just cut to the chase, and –” Before Tiffany even opens her mouth to respond, Phoebe walks around her and starts massaging her back.

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Tiffany groans as Phoebe works out a tough knot, “I haven’t felt this relaxed since my trip to Barbados in ’97. Okay, you’re hired.”

Phoebe grabs a tissue and pats down Tiffany’s back as she mulls over this life-changing career switch. Just weeks ago, she’d been raking in millions of dollars. She’d had a high-rise office, a high-rise apartment, and a high-rise life. Was it really a good idea for her to work her way down to this? Playing guitar for free at the coffee shop and making just enough to scrape by?

_Better than collapsing at work, only to have your coworkers barely notice you're dying._

“Ms. Buffay? Hello?”

Looking down, Phoebe can see Tiffany holding out her hand for Phoebe to shake it. Wiping the rest of the oil off her right hand, Phoebe briskly asks, “Do I get health insurance?”

Tiffany’s smile wavers. “Uh, well, no. But you get a free incense stick for every 10 massages you give. We have a punch-card for it now,” she adds proudly.

Phoebe quickly says, “Make it two for every _five_ massages, and you’ve got a deal.”

Tiffany sighs as she shakes Phoebe's hand. “You drive a hard bargain, but all right.”

 

 

 

**March**

 

_How did I get here?_

Blowing her nose on a napkin, Rachel rocks a little in her seat on the long couch in Central Perk. 

Her elbow bumps into a large shopping bag.

_Oh, right. I bought out half of the Village and now I'm 'celebrating.'_

Crying at the coffee shop again, surrounded by shoes. Rachel's starting to lose track of how many times she’s done that now.

One of the good things about being a regular here is the unspoken rule of Monica and the others having reserved this whole area. Rachel had to shoo away a moody-looking teenager last Thursday, but other than that, whenever she’s needed to sit and think – and, okay, feel sorry for herself – she’s been left alone.

“Rachel?”

Mostly.

“I’m fine, Gunther. Thank you,” she says thickly, and to her relief, another customer waves him over. He growls a little and leaves Rachel to add to her pile of napkins.

She silently dubs it Gross Mountain. It looks much more impressive than the tiny, empty espresso cup she’d finished half an hour ago. Another, well, perk to being a regular here is that she always gets a free drink, even though it’s the smallest one on the menu, and Gunther can’t give her blueberry muffins anymore.

Rachel doesn’t know what’s worse: the fact that her divorce took much less time than her wedding, or the fact that it had taken her less time to get over Barry than it did for her crush on Shaun Cassidy.

Oh, who's she kidding - that flame will  _never_ fade.

The point is, Rachel isn’t crying about getting her heart broken by Barry. She’d just been about to cheat on him, and even though she hates Barry for what he did, she’s honestly a little relieved about it. She hadn’t realized she’d been so bored and lonely in Long Island until she came to Manhattan. Being around Monica again, hanging out in her neighborhood, almost having an affair with a soap opera star – Rachel still has to keep herself from calling him _Joey Tribbiani_ and think of him as just Joey, guy who saw her throw up – it’s all made Rachel feel alive again, and that’s why she’d decided to stay.

No, it’s not Barry she’s crying about, or having her life turned completely around. Although Phoebe has her eccentricities, it’s far better than living with Rachel’s family.

After moving out of her house, she’d stayed with her father for a few weeks, then lived with her mom for one. Rachel had then moved on to Jill’s, but could barely hack it there for one night. Rachel lasted twenty minutes at Amy’s before calling a cab and heading to Monica’s.

The day after that, Phoebe had brought Rachel some homemade zucchini bread, which Rachel honestly didn’t want, but then Phoebe offered Rachel a place to stay, which Rachel _did_ want. Monica had also offered, but Rachel still felt guilty over barging into Monica’s life, kissing her soap opera star friend and asking Monica to support her cheating on her husband, having Ross trip over himself to talk to her again like the old days...

Rachel shoves the wadded up napkins aside, and takes out her Dior wallet.

Before she’d left Daddy’s, he pressed his credit cards into her hands, raging, “I’m gonna _kill_ that slimy little dentist with his own tools!” Never really having gone without money before, Rachel accepted the credit cards, which are now lying fanned out on the table.

She’d tried to settle with Barry. He let her have all her clothes and jewelry, but demanded to have her wedding ring, and when Rachel asked about the house, Barry waved a form in front of her face while gloating, “Pre-nup! You don’t even remember signing this, do you? It says I get the house, the car, the ring, anything I want if you file for divorce. After all, I’m the one who earned everything.”

 _Did you earn six years of my life while you were cheating on me with half of my friends and the dog walker?_ Rachel thinks to herself as she stares at her father’s credit cards. She can always think of a good retort days later – or, in this case, weeks.

By then, she’d wanted to take Barry’s laughing gas nozzle and shove it down his throat too, but instead, she’d taken her clothes, left half of them at her mom’s, and brought the rest with her to Phoebe’s grandmother’s apartment. It’s small and it’s a little far, but it’s livable, and Phoebe’s always got something kooky but amusing to say to take Rachel’s mind off her problems. It’s when she’s alone like this that she gets too far into herself, thinking of where she went wrong and how she’s going to dig herself out of this hole.

Since she hasn't had a lot of experience digging herself out of holes, Rachel's surrounded by three bags of new shoes. Shoes have always calmed her down, but looking at the bill after her usual shopping high has done something different to her. She hasn’t been crying for Barry, but for money, and she's still crying. It’s not even _her_ money, it’s Daddy’s.

It’s _always_ been Daddy’s money. Or Barry’s.

“Gunther?” she says suddenly, and he’s by her side again. Rachel’s starting to get used to how fast he appears next to her.

“Do you have any scissors?” she asks.

“You’re not going to cut your hair or anything, are you? Because I just vacuumed last night.”

“No,” she says a little impatiently. “Do you have any, or not?”

He brings her a pair and she toys with it a little, looking down at the cards. She’d had to cancel her old ones, because of Barry. They had been her best friends for the past six years, and these credit cards have been her best friends for the past six weeks. It’s sad, but Rachel’s almost glad to finally admit the truth.

She's got other friends now, though, and she likes admitting that more. She thinks about Phoebe, who’d gone from a corporate businesswoman to massaging for minimum wage. But Phoebe still hums while she waters her plants, and she always has time to tell Rachel stories about her customers. Monica too, has had it rough: being a virgin until just recently is unthinkable to Rachel, but then again, Monica’s with the love of her life. Rachel’s not sure if she's even _liked_ her ex-husband all these years. Chandler’s kind of dry, and sometimes Rachel thinks he's making fun of her, but he’s really sweet to Monica, and he can be occasionally funny.

Then there’s Ross. Ross has also been struggling. His divorce with Carol is taking much more time than Rachel’s because he and Carol didn’t have a pre-nup – Rachel’s grip tenses around the scissors when she thinks of that word – and now all Ross does is go to meetings upon meetings with lawyers about Ben’s custody.

Ross is nice. He’s always been really nice to Rachel, but in that overeager puppy sort of way who wants a pat on the head constantly. She pretends to enjoy his keyboarding sessions and smiles politely at his fossil collection. She can tell that he needs a friend as much as she does. But she can tell Ross might want more than that with her, and she doesn’t need that with anyone, right now.

Well, she’d _wanted_ to take another crack at the sack with _Joey Tribbi –_ no, just Joey - but after seeing him leave the coffee shop with more than a couple other starstruck women – and seeing Monica’s furious headshakes whenever Rachel’s eyes stray toward Joey – she realizes it’d be more out of spite than anything, an ego-boost, and while she'd like that very much right now, she knows she shouldn't give into temptation.

_Speaking of temptation..._

Rachel turns her attention back to the credit cards, and, with a heavy sigh, with no one around to cheer her on, she snatches up the Visa and cuts it in half.

 _Snap_.

Then the Mastercard...

_Snap._

And the other two Visas –

_Snap. Snap._

Rachel hesitates when she gets to the last one. Maybe she could keep it. Couldn’t hurt to have a safety net, right?

Then she remembers what Monica had said the day everyone helped Rachel and Phoebe move into her grandmother's apartment:

“Welcome to the real world: it sucks! You’re gonna love it.”

_Snap!_

Rachel’s heart is hammering, her hands are sweating, and the scissors fall to the table with a clatter. She looks down at the pieces strewn about on the table with growing realization of what’s she’s done.

“No! Wait!” she cries down at the cards. “I didn’t mean that! I’m so sorry!” and she immediately tries putting one back together, like a puzzle. She can feel the tears welling back up behind her eyes as she realizes what a reckless idiot she can be.

“Rachel?” Gunther asks again, holding some fresh napkins.

“Don’t worry, none of the pieces are on the floor,” Rachel says, taking the bundle of napkins with a shaking finger.

“Waiter!” someone calls, and Gunther mutters a string of curses under his breath that would usually make Rachel gasp in horror. But that was the old Rachel.

 _This is the new Rachel_ , she thinks as she dabs the corner of her eyes, then swiftly gathers up all the credit card pieces to fold them up in the napkins. _No more crying. No more safety net_.

“Gunther?” she says over the back of the couch, and he stops halfway across the shop to turn to her.

_Sorry, Daddy. Screw you, Barry. No more being a shoe all my life. I’m going to be a purse. Maybe a hat._

Hats eventually come back in style.

She bites her lip, releases it, and asks Gunther, “Are you hiring?”

 

 

 

**April**

 

 _Two months_ , Chandler thinks.

Two months since he and Monica started dating.

Okay, technically it’s been 59 days, 7 hours and 59 minutes. But who’s counting?

“Would you stop counting?” Ross groans from behind his newspaper.

“Okay, okay, I just need to - 8 hours!” Chandler says with a grin, tapping his watch.

“And that means I am  _outta_ here!” Rachel cries as she practically races past Chandler and Ross, waving goodbye at them while whipping off her waitress apron.

Chandler waves back at her, noticing Ross's feeble finger-wave out of the corner of his eye, and stretches his arms out on the long couch at Central Perk as widely as his smile feels. “I still can't believe this is the second-longest relationship I’ve been in since college!”

“I _know_ , Chandler,” Ross says tightly from the armchair, his voice muffled behind the sports section. “I was there.”

“I should get Monica something. You know, to commemorate our two-month anniversary. Maybe some flowers? No, better not repeat myself from last week. You know what Monica said the other day?”

“That relationships need a certain amount of stability, but also some surprises, or they’ll fall apart,” Ross recited monotonously, closing his newspaper and slapping it down on his lap. “ _I was there_. Do you remember what _I_ said?”

Readjusting his baseball cap, Chandler looks up at the ceiling to jog his memory. “No. And someone should really tell Gunther about that balloon up in the corner.”

“I _said_ ,” Ross grits out, clearly trying to keep his composure, “that while I’m happy you two are together, I would appreciate it if you weren’t so lovey-dovey all the damn time!”

Chandler’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “You saw Carol with Susan today, didn’t you?”

“The woman’s a nightmare!” Ross finally explodes. “A total living nightmare! I don’t know _what_ Carol sees in her!”

“Well, I think _I_ know.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ross says, “Look, can we just – can we not talk about this? It’s bad enough that Ben keeps asking me when he's going to get another daddy since he’s got two mommies now. I would really like it if we could just talk about something else.”

“Okay. How are your kara-tay sessions going?”

“Really good!” Ross says, brightening a little. “I think I’m going to go up a belt next week.”

“Nice. Maybe you should bring Joey with you next time. He’s been a little on edge lately.”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t know. I tried asking him about it, but then Rachel came in and Joey suddenly had to go somewhere. Tell me, have you ever heard of a place called The Store of Store Stuff?”

Looking puzzled, Ross shakes his head.

“Me neither. It’s probably one of those high-class places like where he got that white dog. I guess plebes like us wouldn’t know. Oh!” Chandler snaps his fingers. “I just submitted another comic. Maybe I’ll go with him next time to get Monica something.”

“ _Please_ don’t get her a white dog,” Ross says, and after Chandler scoffs, Ross slowly asks, “So, uh, things with Monica are getting pretty serious, huh?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but... I mean, I don’t want to see you making out, or hear about you counting the hours you’ve been together, because every day _you’ve_ been together, _I’ve_ been separated. It just reminds me of how delicate things can get,” he adds in a quieter tone, “y’know, when you’re in love with someone.”

“Sorry, man. I know it’s been rough, but you’ll get back on your feet.”

“Thanks,” Ross says with a small smile. “So is it? Serious, I mean. I know you haven’t exactly had a lot of experience with this type of thing. I honestly thought you’d be freaking out right about now.”

Chandler mulls over this for a while. Logically, based on his past and personality, he knows he should feel weird about dating someone, about this getting a hell of a lot more serious than he originally intended when he’d first slept with Monica.

But. When he looks at her, he realizes he  _doesn’t_  feel weird about it. And that’s weird in and of itself.

So, in a way, it’s gone from weird all the way back around to normal. Which is, if Chandler dares to think it, good. He's had little experience with ‘good,’ and he’s not about to let that slip away from him.

“I know it’s still taking some getting used to, since you're her brother and we’ve been friends since Wham! became a duo,” Chandler says carefully, “but yeah, I think this has ‘serious’ written all over it.” He lets that hang there, in the air between them, not following it up with a sarcastic quip to show Ross how much he means it.

Ross nods in appreciation of that. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Cool.”

“... You don’t mind if we hug later, do you? Because I’m really comfortable in this spot.”

“Nope, couldn’t pay me to get up right now,” Chandler agrees.

“I gotta say, between you and me, Monica picked the best guy. Even if I didn’t know you, I’d just be glad she didn’t keep dating that other dude. He was _bo-ring_ ,” Ross says with a satisfied chuckle.

“Hiya, fellas!”

“Bah- _shit_!” Chandler shouts as he turns around and comes face-to-face with Dr. Boring himself, Monica’s ex.

“ _Gesundheit_ ,” the sweater-vest clad man says cheerfully as Ross quickly buries himself back in his newspaper.

“Oh, uh, hello there, how are you?” Chandler stammers, hoping that the universe will do him another favor and open up a black hole to swallow the guy right there.

It doesn’t.

“Pretty good, pretty good. Although, I was wondering if either of you fine gents happened to see a raven-haired beauty that happens to frequent this establishment?”

 _Why don't you check again when you join us in the 21st century?_ Chandler automatically thinks, but he swallows his instinct to instead say, “Uh, no, she’s probably at work.” _Lucky her. See, this is why I should’ve gotten a regular nine-to-five job!_

“Well, do you know when she’ll be here?” The other guy says, dropping the act. Chandler had forgotten his name, but he looks like a Rick. Dr. Rick. Put it together and you get... Yeah, that sounds about right.

“Probably _after_ work?” Chandler replies awkwardly. He can get used to being in a relationship; it’s talking to ex-boyfriends of his current girlfriend that’s giving him trouble.

“Okay, well, could you please let her know I want to talk to her? She ended things so suddenly, and then I had to run off to a health convention, and then a convention after _that_ that was upstate about acorns, and I would just like to know if she’s interested in trying things out again, because –”

“She’s got a boyfriend, man,” Chandler says, absolutely failing to suppress a grin. “Me.”

“Oh.” Rick deflates, and then says, “Well, could you tell me why she decided to move on?”

“I don’t know,” Chandler says, taking pity on the poor man and his sweater vest. “I guess she just needed someone who would always be there for her.”

Rick looks like he’s thinking that over for a bit, then relents. “All right. To the better man,” he pauses to hold out his hand, and, a little confused, Chandler shakes it.

After they separate, Rick starts to walk off, and Chandler breathes a sigh of relief.

“Is it because I’m boring?” Rick asks, doubling back around. “I’ve heard that I can be boring. But I can be less boring! Let’s see... What do you think is the average lifespan of a cocoa tree?”

Chandler can’t help but sigh in exasperation, while Ross answers, “100 years.”

“Bingo!” Rick says. “This guy gets it!”

Lowering his newspaper, Ross grins and nods, then, after catching the look on Chandler’s face, dives back into his paper.

“Look,” Chandler says, “I’ll tell Monica you stopped by, but why don’t you try meeting someone at one of your conventions? That way, you’ll at least have something in common. And, y’know, maybe be up front with them about having to take off all the time because of your job. I’m sure you’ll find _someone_. Take it from a self-proclaimed bachelor for the past two years –”

“– Three,” Ross coughs.

“Thanks, man,” Chandler says dryly, then looks back up at Rick. “It’ll happen eventually. You’ll find someone who’s the right fit for you.”

“Well, I really appreciate that, Chandler,” guy whose name Chandler still can’t remember says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m sure she is out there somewhere. And I have a joke about cashews that I’m sure she’ll go… _Nuts_ for!” He laughs uproariously at that, and Chandler glances over at Ross, who’s laughing too.

Just then, the balloon that had been in the rafters deflates.

Right onto Chandler’s lap.

“All right, I can’t. I’m done,” he says as they erupt into more laughter. As Chandler jumps up, letting the balloon slide to the couch, he looks at Ross pointedly. “Enjoy your next best friend. Or Ben's new daddy.” Then he races out of Central Perk.

Whatever he’s going to get for Monica, it sure as hell won’t be nuts.

 

 

 

**May**

 

Ross Geller has come to a startling realization.

He really, really, _really_ hates divorce.

In the end, he’d let Carol have joint custody with Ben. She’d broken Ross's heart, but she hadn’t cheated on him, per se. Although Ross would have found it immensely helpful if he could find a big book of rules on cheating and find some way to prove she actually cheated during the three-way, he’s not going to punish his ex by taking away her son on a mere technicality.

No, Ross knows he’s a lot of things, but petty isn’t one of them.

Or pale, since he’s decided to treat himself and get a spray-on tan. He'd been dubious about it, but it actually worked, and he already feels like a new man.

Which is just as well, because Carol doesn’t seem to want the old _or_ new spray-tanned, teeth-whitened Ross. Instead, she and Ben moved in with Susan. Ross is still living in his apartment, which suddenly feels a lot bigger than it used to. He picks Ben up on Friday afternoons and drops him off at school on Monday mornings. He goes to karate class and struggles to adjust to life without Carol. It’s been three months since the separation, one week since the divorce, and because he’s still undeniably in the denial stage, Ross just _knows_ that Carol sees him the way she used to, the same way she did when they got married.

Only, when she turns to look at Susan, Ross sees that look in her eyes too.

He kicks a can off the sidewalk, Central Perk growing closer and closer in the distance. Stopping with a sigh, he picks up the can off the street and drops it into a nearby wastebin. He doesn’t want to go back to his place yet because, if he’s being honest with himself, there are too many memories there. He can still smell Carol’s lotion and it just makes him ache all over again.

Then again, when is he not aching?

“Ross!”

He turns around to see Rachel hurrying up to join him on the sidewalk. She’s wearing a tan pantsuit and has a glow in her cheeks that Ross has been seeing more of lately. He’s glad to see her happy. She deserves that.

He’s also glad that instead of the rush of blood to his face – and other parts of his body he won’t mention – Ross feels the ghost of it now while seeing Rachel unexpectedly. When she'd gotten his coffee orders wrong the _first_ dozen times, it was cute, but the shine soon wore off, and Ross couldn’t be more relieved to see her out of her apron.

“Hey, Rach,” he says, and instead of doing their usual awkward dance of ‘Do we hug? How do we greet each other? What is human interaction?’ she embraces him full-on.

“Oh, I can’t even wait until we get to the coffee shop – I just got out of an interview, and I think I’m gonna get hired!”

“Hey, that’s great!” Ross says, hugging her back, “Where at?”

“Bloomingdale’s,” Rachel says, and at this angle, Ross can literally see the stars in her eyes. They separate and head over to Central Perk together as Rachel tells him about the manager, how nervous Rachel felt, yet excited at the same time.

As he watches her gesture and laugh about some hat joke she had made that pleased her interviewer, Ross is proud of her, but, secretly, he’s proud of himself as well. He remembers all the times he’d somehow managed to talk to Rachel alone since she moved to The Village; whenever it was just them two, Ross always got mentally teleported back to somewhere between the ages of fourteen and twenty again, stuttering and shuffling his feet. These days, though, he’s looking up at her instead of his feet.

“Congrats, Rachel, really,” he says when Rachel finally finishes her story, beaming so brightly she could light up the street. “I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she says, wringing her hands as they wait for a car to drive past and cross the street to get to Central Perk. Just as Ross steps off the curb, Rachel grabs him by the elbow saying, “Wait, I just remembered –” and he nearly falls right on his ass in front of her.

“Oh, my... Ross, I’m so sorry!” Rachel says anxiously as he quickly rights himself with a couple of ridiculous-looking skips.

“S’okay! I’m okay. This is where my kara-tay training comes in handy.”

Her expression switching from worried to confused, Rachel blinks. “Okay, um, well, before we go inside, I wanted to tell you something.”

 _This_ is the part where the blood starts rushing to his head - although that might be because he'd just avoided breaking his foot on the curb - and he feels faint. “What is it?”

“Gunther told me about the apartment across the street,” Rachel says, pointing to the building. “The one Monica says an ugly naked man used to live in?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ross says faintly. “Boy, did you miss out on that.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Rachel says, brushing away a strand of hair that had escaped from her professional bun, “Gunther said something about how a couple moved in there a while ago, but now they’re moving out. Something having to do with not paying $100 for a handyman’s party?”

“Well, yeah!” Ross can't help but feel incredibly indignantly on their behalf. “Why would they have to?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel says with a shrug. “The point is, the couple’s been feeling harassed ever since they’ve moved in, so if you’re interested...”

The pounding his head subsides a little as Ross scrutinizes Rachel. “Oh,” he says as she looks at him expectantly, then, without even thinking about it, he puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Rach, you know, under any other circumstance, I would _love_ to move in with you. But I just, uh, don’t think it’s the right time for either of us, y’know?”

Rachel looks stunned. “I’m sorry, what?”

Almost as if in a dream, Ross notices that he still has his hand on her shoulder.

 _Okay, so you read that the wrong way. No big deal. You should probably take your hand off her shoulder now_ , he thinks to himself. _Now! Can you just –_ He robotically lifts his hand straight up. _That’s right, now mooove it away..._ He swings it to the left, operating it like a moving crane.

When it’s stretched away from Rachel, both of them stare at it, like it’s grown a mind of its own. It stops, and is just sort of there.

Hanging in the air.

 _Smooth,_ Ross thinks faintly.

“Are you okay, Ross?” Rachel asks. At least she sounds concerned for him, rather than scared _of_ him.

“I’m fine!” he says as he keeps his hand flexed out. “Just... Doing a kara-tay exercise! It's a balance thing, y'know, from almost falling over.”

Rachel mouth twists a little at that, but at least she pretends to accept it. “Oh. Well, what I was going to tell you was, _you_  should move into Ugly Naked apartment! By yourself. So you can be closer to Monica? I wouldn’t be able to afford half that place, anyway.”

“Great, I'll look into it,” Ross says, still trying to play off his awkwardly raised arm. Which is still up, only now it’s like he’s waving at someone behind Rachel. “Thanks a bunch! You can go on inside, I’ll catch up!”

“Ross,” Rachel says, her expression soft and genuine, “I know things have been hard for you lately. And I know this seems like another big change. But I think this would be good for you. Carol’s happy where she is. You can be happy too, if you'll just let yourself be.”

She stands up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek, and crosses the street to go inside Central Perk.

As he watches her through the glass windows, Ross can see her make a beeline to Monica, hugging her as she starts telling her interview story all over again.

He can also see, all too clearly, that Rachel isn’t the same girl he fell in love with back in ninth grade.

She never would be.

Ross realizes, then, that’s he’s fine with that.

“Hey, buddy! All right!” Joey says as he high-fives Ross, snapping him out of his spell. “Come on, let’s go inside! I wanna hear how Rachel’s interview went.”

It takes a few weeks, but surprisingly, Ross manages to get Ugly Naked Guy’s apartment from the couple. As it turns out, they _really_ like mini muffins.

After the last of the movers leave, Ross closes the front door behind himself, on Carol and Susan, and on Rachel.

When he sees Monica dusting her window across the street and she stops to wave at him, he’s already starting to feel like himself again.

Then Chandler comes up behind Monica, and - 

“Oh, ew, that’s not... Yeah,” Ross says, yanking his new curtains together.

 

 

 

**June**

 

Lying in her bed, Monica pinches the ample fold between her hips and ribcage.

_Four months, four pounds._

She’s not pregnant. She’s checked twice and both tests were negative. It would be nice, but she’s surprised at how relieved she still is at the results. She’ll give it another year before she starts talking ‘babies’ with Chandler. Since this is Chandler she's dating, she'll probably extend it to two.

But _man_ , she kind of wishes she could have an excuse for gaining four extra pounds.

Monica remembers, all too well, what life was like when she tried to lose weight: two hours on the treadmill, chicken and green beans every day. But the scale was moving down too slowly for her. She needed to get _back_ at Chandler for making fun of her during Thanksgiving, and fast.

Only problem was, Monica hated sweating, and running, and basically everything about exercise in general, so she turned to much more drastic measures. It wasn’t until she’d realized, when she was down to eating 10 grapes a day and woke up sprawled out next to her desk at school, that she was doing the wrong thing for the wrong reason. She went back to her regular diet and regained all the weight she'd lost. The next Thanksgiving party came and went with Chandler’s gaze barely passing over Monica again. Rachel made fun of him in the kitchen, and Monica giggled. That had been the end of it.

That is, until Chandler gleefully joins her back under the covers.

“Ready for Round Two?” he asks.

Looking at his eager face in the dim moonlight, Monica can’t help but give him a tight smile.

“Actually, I’m kinda beat. How about we call it a night?” She turns over and away from him, facing the other direction.

“Woah, hold on.” Chandler shifts in bed, turning on the lamp. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Monica, it’s me. I know I don’t know much about women, but I know _you_. It’s never ‘nothing.’”

Monica hesitates, then rolls back around to face Chandler. “Okay, be honest with me. How long is this going to go on for until you realize you don’t want to date a fat girl?”

She notices then that half of his hair is sticking out, a product of Round One that night. “Okay, I don’t usually keep track of how long I’m in the bathroom, but I definitely missed something. Did I walk into an alternate dimension? Who’s the president? Please don’t tell me we’re in a world without _Baywatch_.”

“ _Baywatch_. Great. That’s just what I needed to hear.”

“Monica? Honey? Can you clue me into what’s happening here?”

“Oh - you said I was fat at Thanksgiving!” she blurts out.

Chandler looks even more shocked, then grimaces. “Wait, _last_ Thanksgiving? Was it before your parents once again acted like I'm America's Most Wanted, or was it after Carol told me to explain to them, _once again_ , why I hate that day so much? Because I unfortunately have a very clear memory of all of it.”

“No, not that one! The Thanksgiving when I was still in high school and you came over for the first time! You called me Ross’s ‘fat sister.’”

“What? I never – _oh_.” He gets that look on his face that Monica’s seen quite a number of times when he knows he’s royally screwed up.

“Uh huh,” she says, glad to see his guilty expression as she pulls the covers up to her chin and crosses her arms over them.

“Monica, that was _years_ ago. I was a stupid teenager too. Remember? Vanilla Ice contest?”

She’s puzzled at that. “No.”

“Me neither,” Chandler says quickly, then takes up Monica’s hands in his. “Look, what I’m trying to say is, I couldn’t have _been_ more of a moron back then. If I could go back and tell myself one thing, I’d tell myself that I missed out on a whole _decade_ of getting to be with the most amazing, thoughtful, _gorgeous_ woman I could ever hope to have a chance with.”

Tears start pricking at the corners of Monica’s eyes. “Really?”

Chandler’s eyes shift to the side a bit. “Well, no, I’d also tell myself to stop using a can of hair gel every two days. That was a pain in the ass to clean out.”

“I gained four pounds since we started dating,” Monica admits.

“Oh,” Chandler says neutrally, “so that’s where this is coming from.”

“You’re not upset?”

He shrugs. “Why would I be? I've gained six pounds since February. You’re killing me with all of these casseroles lately, but in the best way possible.”

“Wow,” Monica says. “So I’m not absolutely repulsive to you?”

He responds with a slow kiss that builds in intensity as he continues holding onto both her hands over the covers.

She grins after they separate, Chandler resting his forehead against Monica’s.

“I’ll go easy on the casseroles,” she says a little breathlessly. “Maybe give some of them to Joey. If this is gonna last – and I want it to – we both should start eating a little healthier.”

“Yeah, Joey would like that. It's a good plan,” Chandler agrees. “I’ve got another one. We both join a gym... and then we _don’t go_.”

Laughing, Monica protests, “But that’s not the point of having a gym membership!”

“Eh, so we stay at home and have sex instead. Did you know,” Chandler changes his tone to imitate Monica’s ex, Roger, “that an hour of sex can burn 2,000 calories?”

“No, it doesn’t!” she slides her hands around his neck as he kisses her collarbone.

“Well, the way _we’re_ gonna do it, it will.”

Somewhere between Rounds Three and Four, she asks Chandler to move in.

His answer carries them well into the next morning.

 

 

 

**July**

 

Sitting in his boat as the sky darkens overhead, Joey sighs, half-heartedly blowing his party horn as he waits for the fireworks to start. He could be back at Monica’s with the others, but his most recent purchase has been going to waste, and he needs some fresh air, anyway.

Unlike his friends, Joey's life has been pretty much the same these past several months: eat. Go to the set. Have sex. Repeat. Sometimes he’ll throw in a prank call to Chandler, pretending to be Monica.

Joey hadn’t really counted on Chandler buying it so much that he initiated phone sex.

Anyway, these days, Joey’s been changing things up a bit. Somewhere between ‘eat’ and ‘go to the set,’ Joey’s been having less sex and hangs out more over at Monica's, now Monica and Chandler’s. Joey doesn’t know how Monica got Chandler to settle down, but Joey's happy for both of them. He sure as hell doesn’t know how Phoebe went from talking on her cell phone all the time to wearing long skirts and braiding her hair, but he’s happy for her too. Even Ross seems like he’s doing okay these days, even though he doesn't bring Ben around because Chandler gave him a Whoopie Cushion, and Rachel told him how to use it.

Yeah. Rachel.

Joey does what he always does when he starts getting weird about a woman: buy something expensive. Usually that would include having lots of sex _on_ the expensive item, but this time, for some reason Joey can’t quite get, he’s not really in the mood much for sex these days.

It doesn't mean he's stopped having sex, period - what is he, a priest? - it's just that he doesn't need to have it every day.

So he’d bought a boat on a whim, and as Joey surveys the docks, he wouldn’t mind having a whole fleet to himself.

One hour after sunset and four days after christening The Gratest Sub, Joey sits in it with his captain’s hat on and sighs, blowing the party horn again. He knows he should’ve brought some beer.

“Isn’t that for New Year’s?”

Joey turns around to see Rachel standing on the dock, holding a blanket and looking like she’s holding back a laugh. He automatically blows on the horn again, then takes it out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he says, “I figure I’d give it a little practice run.”

“Well, while you're doing that, got any more room in there, Captain?”

“Sure,” Joey says, flicking his hat and standing up to help Rachel onto his sailboat. “How’d you know I was here, anyway?”

Rachel puts down the blanket before turning toward the rope docking the boat. “You told us you were coming here, before you left.”

“Oh. Right.” One of the things he likes about being around Rachel is that when he says something stupid, she doesn't _make_ him feel stupid. “How’s the party?”

“Good! I guess I just needed to get away for a bit.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Only problem is, I don’t –”

“– Know how to sail,” Rachel finishes for him with a knowing smile as she uncoils the rope from its station on the dock. “Don’t worry. I do.”

And before Joey knows it, they’re off. Her hands are practiced as she moves around the deck, and when he looks at her fingers real close to wonder how she can do everything without breaking her nails, he can see that they’re different. Shorter.

He can also see that she’s wearing the ring he gave her months ago.

And then, Joey starts to do something he rarely does: he begins to think. If they stay, they’ll kiss. And if they do that, she might throw up again.

Or maybe even worse, she might not.

After they're out in the middle of the Hudson, Rachel does more stuff with the rigging and anchor, and Joey says, “Here, I better learn how to do this myself.” He gets up and helps her lower the anchor and as his hands pass over hers, Rachel looks up at him.

“Well, if you want, I could teach you how to sail,” she offers, her voice higher than normal as they finish dropping the anchor. “Although, I should let you know, it's not gonna be easy.”

“I'm a fast learner,” Joey says, pointing to the other side of the boat. “That's portside, right?”

Standing up, Rachel pauses for a moment, then says, “Uh, we'll get to that next time.”

“Looking forward to it,” Joey says, “but until then...” he takes off his captain's hat and puts it on Rachel's head.

She laughs, reaching up to push it to one side, and then pretends to model it with one hand on her hip, the other on the back of her head. “Oh, thank you, Joey! How do I look?”

He takes her in, her face dimly lit all around by the city lights, and he thinks _Beautiful_ , but says, “Captainy.”

Smiling, she sits down and checks something on the rigging. Joey doesn't know if he should sit next to her or across, and to keep himself from choosing, he stays standing and asks how things are going with her.

“Good!” she says, and looks like she really means it. She talks about her new job, how she likes dressing up people instead of cleaning gum under the tables at the coffee shop, and Joey listens, and nods. She's much better off where she is now, where she can do what she really wants.

“And what about you?” she asks, getting that starstruck look in her eye Joey's seen many times. He tells her about the new storyline he's doing about Drake meeting his evil twin brother's boss's daughter's ex, and, remembering he's not supposed to say more, he clams up. Then suddenly, somehow, Rachel's tugging him down to sit next to her, begging him for more details, but before he tells her he can't - and honestly, doesn't remember anyway - the sky starts exploding with red and blue fireworks. Big loud ones, the kind Joey likes.

“Oh!” Rachel says, letting go of his hand and looking up. “They set them off early here, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he says, feeling a little sad at the loss of her touch. “I guess they do.”  

Rachel unfolds the blanket she had brought with her and begins to put it around herself. She hesitates, then wraps it around Joey too. She gets real close to him, settling against his side, and lets out a satisfied sigh as he gets this warm feeling in his chest.

When he tenses up a little despite the nice feeling, she looks up at him.

“Don’t worry,” she says with an awkward smile, “I won’t throw up on you this time.”

He relaxes his shoulder as Rachel snuggles against him some more. This is the closest they've been since that one night. Physically, anyway. Joey feels like he knows more about Rachel than half the women he's screwed, combined. And it makes him feel...

He can't really explain how it makes him feel.

She rests her head against his shoulder, and he can almost feel the heat coming off of her in waves. He's felt it many times, and he's honestly a little worried about it. It’s not that Rachel might throw up that he's worried about. Okay, well, he _is_ a little worried about that, even though she looks like she hasn't been drinking at all tonight, but he’s more worried about the fact that they’re sitting here, together, out in the middle of the river and alone. He’s never been with a woman he wanted to sleep with and _not_ had sex with already. He’s never been this nervous around a woman before, this unsure of what to do.

“We should probably head back, before we get stuck out here,” he says, his mouth suddenly dry, and he hates himself for how awkward he sounds. At least Chandler isn’t here to see him like this.

“We should. But can we... after?”

He gulps. Oh great, she could hear that. He knows she could. “After?”

“The fireworks. I just kind of want to sit here for a bit and celebrate.”

That gets a chuckle out of him, smoothing out his nerves. “What, really? There’s no booze, no crowd, no fancy clothes, no sex – _that’s_ your idea of a celebration?”

“It used to be.”

Rachel sounds sad when she says that, so Joey puts an arm around her shoulder and when she glances up at him in surprise, he smiles. “Then that’s how we’ll do this.”

She returns his smile and together, they look back up to watch the multi-colored lights bloom and crackle in the sky.

He’s never going to tell Monica, but it’s the best party Joey’s been to in _years_.

 

 

 

**December**

 

“Yep, I _totally_ made the right decision,” Chandler says as he stirs chocolate fondue about ten minutes until New Year’s.

Monica slinks up behind him and kisses his cheek. “To move in here? I think that every day.”

“No, to get this fondue pot for our two-month anniversary. I told you it’d be a good investment!”

Monica rolls her eyes at him while grinning, and he dips a cracker into the simmering pot, then lifts it up for her to taste.

“No, thanks,” she says, waving it away. “It’s probably too hot to eat right now. And it’ll go right to my hips.”

Chandler puts the cracker on a plate and shuts off the pot, slowly turns around to face Monica, sliding his hands down her curves. “Like I said last week, and the week before that, and the week before _that:_ can’t get enough of them. But if you really want to work this fondue pot off, I know a move that could burn calories for both of us.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“I’ll have to spot you later,” Monica says before leaning into kiss him, and Phoebe turns away from them, realizing once again why she stopped trying to publish a book using their conversations. They’re just too… _functional_.

She turns her attention to Ross, standing by himself between the kitchen and the living room, watching the crowd. _Ah, yes,_ this _is the trainwreck I should’ve written about all along._ Phoebe walks over to him and follows his line of sight: Rachel standing out on the balcony by herself, hugging her sides and looking up at the sky.

“What’s the matter?” Phoebe asks, because with Ross, something’s _always_ the matter.

Ross sighs. “You know, I’ve just… I’ve moved on, right? I’ve been dating around, looking for other fish in the sea. There was Sharon, and Kristin –”

“– Your student –”

“– And it’s almost been a _year_ since I ended things with Carol,” Ross continues with a pointed glare at Phoebe, “and I haven’t found that special someone yet. It’s New Year’s, you know? After being divorced, I kinda thought…” As he trails off, Phoebe follows his gaze back out to Rachel again, who’s being joined by Joey on the balcony. He takes his coat off and helps it onto her, then extends his hand in a clear invitation to dance. Rachel laughs into her hand a bit, and then she accepts, drawing into his embrace with a smile.

Ross sighs, and Phoebe can tell it’s wistful rather than jealous. “I kinda thought I’d have what _they_ have now. Or what Monica and Chandler have.”

“A big white dog and a fondue pot?”

“You know what I mean,” Ross says as he and Phoebe turn to watch Monica feeding Chandler a cracker covered in chocolate fondue. He eats it whole, then hops up and down before spitting it out as Monica hurriedly gets him some cold water from the tap.

Proud of herself for not itching for a cigarette anymore, Phoebe touches her hair. It’s long and wavy, and she’s grown to like it that way. “I’ll let you in on one of life’s greatest secrets, Ross,” she says wisely.

“What? What is it?” he asks, looking genuinely interested.

“Love… can be a nuisance.”

He scoffs at that a little, the curious look on his face replaced with irritation, but Phoebe continues. “No, I’m not done yet! My heart couldn’t take it, and I don’t think yours could either, right now.”

“I thought your heart couldn’t take working 70 hours a week and smoking two packs a day.”

“You just need time,” Phoebe says. “Trust me: the longer you spend longing after something you can’t have right now, the harder it’s going to be on your heart later.” Phoebe pats her own chest a couple times, which doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

Ross gets a look on his face then, one of dawning comprehension, and he says, “Phoebe, you are smarter than anyone gives you credit for.”

“I'm glad someone finally said it.”

“You're right. Maybe I do need some more time,” Ross says confidently, his last couple words getting swallowed as the New Year’s countdown starts and all the partygoers cheer in anticipation. Phoebe doesn’t feel as much excitement as they do. Or, rather, she tries not to.

She’s _tried_ not to.

But as she looks at the final numbers flashing across the television screen, as she scans Monica and Chandler’s apartment to find them already embraced in a kiss and Rachel and Joey still revolving slowly on the balcony, Phoebe begins to feel the _potential_ for excitement. It’s how she used to feel whenever she closed a deal or looked at her bank account.

Here and now, she feels it for people. For others.

When the countdown hits zero, when everyone shouts, “ _Happy New Year!_ ” and Phoebe amicably hugs Ross after a quick peck on the cheek, she feels that potential for herself as well.

“Happy New Year, Pheebs,” Ross says.

“You too!”

“New year, new Ross,” he announces, looking like he really believes it this time, and Phoebe isn’t disgusted by the sentiment. She notices Rachel, Joey, Chandler, and Monica heading over to join them, the latter two juggling champagne and glasses.

“New _us_ ,” Phoebe says to her healing heart, and she says it again for the toast.


End file.
